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Regulus swallowed the last bite of his ham sandwich and levitated his plate from the slate grey kitchen counter to the nearby sink, holding his wand steady so none of the crumbs tipped off. A log snapped behind him as the crackling fireplace fought back the chill of the unseasonably cold July morning; outside, dark clouds blanketed the sky and emerald leaves rustled in the breeze.
‘I like the house,’ he told Sirius, who had finished his lunch some time ago and was tinkering with the anti-trespassing wards. ‘Of course, it isn’t at all what I thought you’d go for.’
‘What were you expecting?’ Sirius was, as ever, unable to resist bait. If it wriggled, he snatched it, consequences be damned; maybe his Animagus form should have been a bass, given how often he got reeled in.
‘I don’t know.’ Regulus tried to sound innocent, but he knew his smirk would give the ruse away. ‘Red and gold paint. Gaudy furniture. Crude paintings.’
Sirius barked out a laugh and lowered his wand. ‘Everything our parents hated and my teenage self loved?’
‘Exactly.’ As a child, Regulus assumed the reason his brother always walked into his ribbing was that he was too stupid not to. Years passed before he realised Sirius didn’t mind getting caught as long as he heard the payoff to the joke.
‘Sorry to disappoint you, but it wasn’t all me.’ Sirius gestured over to the pair of pale blue sofas tucked into a corner, connected by a fluffy rug. ‘Harry picked those out. I wanted something darker, but he thought these were more comfortable.’
‘Smart kid. You should listen to him more often.’
‘Don’t let him hear you say that or he’ll be insufferable for days.’
Regulus snorted. As much as Sirius liked to pretend otherwise, there was nothing he wouldn’t do for his godson. If that hadn’t gone to Harry’s head already, nothing would. ‘Speaking of Harry, how’s he taking the move?’
‘He misses London, but he’s coming around. Ron and Hermione slept over last night, and they found a Muggle park a few blocks away with a duck pond. He won’t stop gushing about it.’
‘It’s good he has them.’ Regulus only ever saw Harry’s friends at birthday parties, but they seemed like nice kids. ‘Their heads are screwed on straight.’
‘Most of the time,’ Sirius said under his breath.
Regulus stood, preparing to leave. As much as he enjoyed spending time with Sirius, he had a report to finish for his boss. But as his legs straightened, his knees cracked loud enough that they could have been mistaken for logs falling in the fireplace. ‘We’re getting so old. Every day, something hurts, and never the same thing twice.’
Sirius raised his eyebrows and swung his chair back until he was balancing on two legs like a bored schoolboy. ‘We? Speak for yourself. I’m as spry as I was the day I turned eighteen.’
‘You have two years on me!’ Regulus protested. ‘If I’m old, you are too.’
‘You’re the one with grey ha—’
The front door swung open with a low creak. Chilly air and angry raised voices burst in and swept down the hallway as if trying to escape the argument that followed.
‘Sounds like they’re back,’ Regulus said dryly.
Harry’s expression was pinched, almost constipated, as he hung up his woollen coat. Behind him, Ron and Hermione were mid-argument. Spittle flew and their hands gestured wildly to punctuate their words. Neither of them seemed aware they had come in from the cold.
‘This spew business has got to stop,’ Ron insisted. ‘Come on, Hermione. Do you know how humiliating it is to walk around wearing a badge that says vomit ?’
Hermione rolled her eyes and huffed in exasperation. ‘How many times do I have to tell you, Ronald? It’s S.P.E.W., not spew . Given how much you hate all that pureblood crap, I thought you’d be more supportive.’
‘Call it something normal and I would be!’
Help, Harry mouthed, shooting Regulus and Sirius a pleading look.
Regulus cleared his throat loudly, and Hermione and Ron flinched, both looking about guiltily. When they realised where they were, Ron’s ears went pink and Hermione stared at the ground, scuffling her feet. ‘What’s spe—’
Any embarrassment on Hermione’s face fled. Her head shot up, eyes flashing with fury.
Regulus caught himself. ‘Sorry. What’s S.P.E.W.?’
Sirius shook his head in warning, his eyes wide with panic, but it was too late. Regulus knew well that just as bells could not be unrung, words could not be unsaid. If they could, he wouldn’t have spent so many nights staring out at a waning moon, lamenting the day he swore himself to the Dark Lord.
But other than its dreadful name, what was so bad about S.P.E.W. that Harry, Ron and Sirius all wanted to avoid the topic?
Hermione had no such aversion. With all the passion of a teenage girl, she said, ‘The Society for the Protection of Elfish Welfare. It’s an organisation I founded earlier this year. We have badges, but we’re still trying to get the word out there. Perhaps it would be more successful if some people pulled their weight.’
Despite Hermione’s ire, Regulus felt a slow smile spread across his face. ‘Elfish Welfare? As in house-elves?’
She nodded. ‘The conditions house-elves live in are abominable. They’re not workers; they’re slaves! Slavery was outlawed in the British Empire in 1833. I knew wizarding society was behind the times, but this is ridiculous .’
‘I agree.’ Even as a child, Regulus hated how his parents treated Kreacher, half-starving him and making him sleep in the kitchen cupboard like a pest mouse. Yet whenever he mentioned it to his school friends, they scoffed and changed the subject. To them, the convenience of owning a house-elf had far outweighed the immorality. Hearing someone else talk about it, care about it, delighted him. If someone had started an organisation like S.P.E.W. at school, he would have joined it in a heartbeat, even if it was founded by a Muggle-born. ‘What inspired you to start the society?’
Hermione’s eyes lit up. No wonder; in all likelihood, no one had ever willingly asked to hear more. ‘One of the girls in my dorm never cleans up after herself. Last year, I asked her why, and she said she always forgot because her family’s house-elf did it for her. I had no idea what a house-elf was, so I borrowed a bunch of books from the library.’
‘I’m not surprised you haven’t had any traction,’ Regulus said bluntly. ‘Only the oldest, richest families own house-elves, and they’re so steeped in tradition that they would never consider releasing them. The rest of the wizarding world either don’t know, don’t care, or don’t think anything can be done about it.’
‘Now there’s two of them,’ Harry muttered. He and Ron slipped past Hermione and into the kitchen, where they started rummaging through the fridge. ‘Hey, Sirius, you’d never guess what we saw at the park.’
Hermione winced, clearly offended, but Regulus paid them no mind. If she wanted to change anything in this world, she needed a thicker skin than that.
‘Something can be done about it.’ Her voice was hard, determined. Good; she’d chosen to ignore them. ‘But we need people to actually care. In the fourth months since I started S.P.E.W., I’ve only recruited three members: Harry, Ron and Neville. Three! Even Sirius refused.’
Sirius threw his arms up in a gesture of innocence. ‘I try not to get involved in politics.’
‘Of course you do,’ Regulus deadpanned. Sirius’ entire childhood had been an act of protest against their parents’ beliefs. Not only that, but fighting against tyranny with the Order of the Phoenix was the epitome of getting involved in politics. ‘But Hermione, you can’t force people to join your organisation. If they don’t care, you need to give them a reason to care or move on.’
She scrunched up her face as if she wanted to argue. ‘But they should care.’
It struck Regulus just how young she was. Everyone talked about how she was the smartest witch of her age, destined for a bright, shining future, and he had no doubt they were right. The one time they’d talked, she’d come across as more mature than her friends. More conscientious, to borrow a word from Regulus’ old school reports.
But at the end of the day, she was only thirteen. To her, the world was still black and white; she hadn’t met enough people yet, lived enough, to see all its beautiful, messy, colourful complexities. ‘The last time I was involved in an organisation that didn’t let people say no, I almost died to escape. I think you remember what happened to its leader.’
‘Oh.’ She rubbed the back of her neck, looking stricken at the comparison. ‘You’re right. I got so caught up in the cause that I forgot the bigger picture.’
‘Let’s sit down,’ he suggested gently. She needed to learn the world was more complicated than she saw, but he didn’t want her to lose her drive. As they settled into the comfortable blue sofas, he decided that Harry was right to choose them. ‘What does the bigger picture look like for you? What are your goals?’
‘Long-term, I want all house-elves to live free, safe and happy.’
‘Maybe you can start with Kreacher,’ Sirius called out slyly. ‘You know, Regulus’ house-elf.’
Hermione’s gaze hardened. ‘You have a house-elf?’
Regulus glared at Sirius, though to be fair, the topic would have come up eventually. Better now than later, when Hermione would feel like he’d lied by omission. ‘Yes, and I’m not ashamed of it. He belonged to my parents and did more to raise me than they ever did. He...’
How much did she know? Sirius had told Harry the broad strokes of their past, and Hermione had to have read about the Dark Lord’s defeat in one of her books. ‘Within weeks of joining the Death Eaters, I realised it was a mistake. But I knew if I left, I’d be running for the rest of my life. Then one day, the Dark Lord asked to borrow Kreacher for a mission, and when it was done, he left him for dead. The only reason Kreacher survived was because I ordered him to return.’
Her face turned ashen. Very few people liked talking about the Dark Lord’s reign; there was a good chance Regulus was the first adult to be this blunt with her about it outside a classroom.
‘If it weren’t for that, I might never have been brave enough to defect… and if it weren’t for Kreacher, I would have died in the attempt. So yes, Hermione, he belongs to me, but I also belong to him. When he dies, I have no intention of getting another house-elf.’
Hermione glanced down at her hands, her eyebrows furrowed. ‘The history books mentioned his name, but they didn’t say he was a house-elf. I thought he was a family pet.’
‘Most witches and wizards don’t want to acknowledge the role a house-elf played in bringing down the Dark Lord.’ After the war, strangers regularly approached Regulus in the street to ask how he survived. They quickly stopped after word got around that he lay the credit at Kreacher’s feet. ‘They don’t like feeling indebted to a “magical creature”.’
‘Do you pay him, at least?’
‘He would refuse. But he has his own bedroom, is well fed and cared for, and can come and go whenever he pleases. He has free time and is not allowed to punish himself for making a mistake.’ Regulus sighed. It was good that Hermione had the wide-eyed optimism of youth. Without it, nothing would ever change. But to succeed, she needed to temper that with the wisdom of age and experience. ‘House-elves are raised to believe they will lose their magic if they aren’t bound to a wizarding family. It’s complete hogwash, but who are they going to believe? A handful of witches and wizards telling them they’ll be safe, or centuries of fear and caution? If you want to free them, don’t start by handing out clothes and expecting them to thank you. Start by improving education and campaigning for better living conditions.’
‘Mum and Dad always say you can’t force people to change their minds by yelling over them,’ Hermione said quietly. ‘That’s what I’ve been trying to do, isn’t it?’
‘It sounds like it,’ he admitted. ‘But if it makes you feel any better, you’ve convinced me. I would love to join S.P.E.W., even if the name is a little…’
She tucked a strand of bushy hair behind her ear and glanced sheepishly at the other three, who were no longer paying them any attention. ‘It really is awful. I’ve wanted to change it for a while, but I already made the badges, and I can’t bear to tell Harry and Ron I messed up. They’ve been against it from the start; they’ll never let me live it down.’
‘I can buy more badges,’ he assured her. ‘Just focus on coming up with a new name.’
Hermione beamed. ‘Do you want to be the treasurer? Ron is at the moment, but honestly, I think he’d be happy for you to take over.’
‘It would be my honour,’ he said formally, and smiled when she laughed.
‘I’ll get a quill and some parchment.’ She rose to her feet. ‘There’s so much to do; we have to get started.’
‘We do, but not today.’ Regulus stood as well. ‘I have work to finish, and it looks like your friends are about to eat. You’re on holidays for another two weeks, right? Try to relax and enjoy yourself. It’s a marathon, not a sprint, and we have plenty of time before you go back to school.’
Hermione hesitated before nodding. ‘Lunch would be nice. I’ll brainstorm some new names tonight and run them past you next time.’
‘The new house is great, Sirius,’ Regulus said as his brother walked him out a few minutes later.
‘It is.’ Sirius opened the door, and Regulus stepped out into the front garden. Empty flowerbeds lined the footpath, the soil stirred up and ready for planting. A work in progress, but a noble one. Just like S.P.E.W.. ‘If only dear old Mum and Dad could see us now. I’m happy, which is the last thing they ever wanted for me. And you… well, first you helped kill Voldemort, and now you’re freeing the house-elves. They’d be mortified. And they thought I was the problem child.’
‘You were the problem child.’ Regulus grinned. Even the breeze chilling his neck and ears couldn’t dampen his mood. ‘It’s just that we’re both problem adults.’
To their parents, nothing had mattered more than upholding the family name. Their sons’ happiness had meant nothing, their wishes even less. Empathy and kindness were weaknesses to be avoided at all costs, and magical creatures were made to serve witches and wizards.
At first, Regulus had been convinced that the worst thing in the world would be to let them down. But after witnessing the dark underbelly of their beliefs, he’d realised just how empty a prize their respect was. If he could spend the rest of his life doing things that would have branded him a problem child, it would be a life well-lived.